On this day, January 30, 1983, I was eleven years old--small in stature but swelling with song, standing among a sea of voices at Birla House. The air still carried the weight of his final breath, his sacrifice, his truth. We sang his beloved bhajans, words woven with devotion, melodies steeped in the soil of struggle. Among them, Jodi Tor Dak Shune Keu Na Ase Tobe Ekla Cholo Re. If no one comes when you call, walk alone.